


The Morning after the Morning After

by Sarren



Category: Green Wing
Genre: First Kiss, Humor, Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-03
Updated: 2009-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarren/pseuds/Sarren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyce can't leave things alone after the events following the slave auction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning after the Morning After

Mac watched the new nurse approach, her eyes still full of innocence and the joy of being alive. Clearly she hadn't crossed paths with Guy yet. He waited until she moved into Guy's line of sight and Guy's attention inevitably focused on the girl's swaying bottom.

Then he bowled.

"Not fair!" Guy whined, picking up the plastic wickets. "I wasn't ready."

"All's fair in love and cricket, my son," Mac said wisely, catching the ball some random helpful member of the public threw back at him. "Cheers," he called.

In the foreground, Boyce and Statham crossed paths. Mac watched Boyce roll his eyes as Statham bustled past him, one hand shading his eyes in a truly pathetic attempt at pretending he didn't see Boyce. "Good morning, Dr Statham," Boyce called loudly, pointedly, after him.

"The path to true love not running smoothly?" Mac called out commiseratingly, tossing the tennis ball up in the air and catching it behind his back with an insouciant air.

"Come on," Guy whined, tapping the floor with the blue cricket bat. "Bowl, already."

Boyce wandered over, stepping around the wickets they'd got set up at one end of the walkway.

"Want to play?" Mac asked.

"No thanks."

"Go on," Mac wheedled, "it's more fun with three - someone to catch."

Guy waggled his eyebrows. "We are still talking about cricket, aren't we?"

Boyce stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. "No, I've actually got to go see Dr Statham at nine. I'd better not be late - you know what he's like."

"Since when did you care..." Boyce stared at him. "...about not being late?" Guy finished.

"Maybe next time," Boyce said, indicating the game, and started to walk away.

Mac dropped the ball and hurried after him, he and Guy falling into step on either side of Boyce.

"So, tell us then," Mac said coaxingly.

"Yeah," Guy chimed in. "Tell Uncle Guy and Uncle Mac all about it."

"Ew," Mac and Boyce said in unison.

Boyce looked at him sideways. "Tell you what?"

"Why, all about you and our esteemed colleague in radiology, of course."

"You know about that?"

"It's all over the hospital."

"Something about you wearing his bloomers?"

"Did he poke you with his sword?"

Boyce looked at both of them in turn, appearing to finally notice the matching t-shirts with rainbow flags they were wearing.

"What's with the shirts? Are you guys coming out at last about your relationship?"

"What?" Guy yelped, shying away.

"I hate to be the one to tell you, but everyone already knows."

Guy was looking horrified. Mac wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted.

"No, mate. We're wearing these to support our friend," he said solemnly.

"He means you," Guy said helpfully to Boyce.

"Thanks, but I don't need support."

"So, you and Statham. Didn't see that one coming."

"Well, thank you for _that_ mental image. Can we not talk about Statham coming, please?" Guy complained, looking nauseated.

Boyce smirked. "Don't knock it til you've tried him."

"Urgh," Guy said, looking disgusted.

"Don't look like that. I know about you and Sue White."

"WHA-? How?" Guy screeched, dancing about looking demented.

"What about Sue White?" Mac said, momentarily distracted.

"Nothing!" Guy yelled. "How much do you want to keep quiet?" he muttered in Boyce's ear.

Mac grinned. Whatever it was, it must be good. But this wasn't the time. He made a mental note to corner Boyce later. "Look, if you really have completely taken leave of your senses, and actually really do fancy Statham," he said soothingly, "and we're not judging you-"

"I am," Guy interrupted, raising his hand.

"-you have to know it won't be easy. Even laying aside the question of whether he's bi or not, the man's obsessed with Joanna Clore."

They'd reached Statham's office. Boyce was looking relieved. He looked from Guy to Mac with an innocent yet earnest expression. Mac didn't buy it for a second. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but there's no need," Boyce assured them. "Really!" he said, as Mac looked sceptically at him.

Guy lost interest and wandered off in pursuit of a group of nurses passing by.

"I'm here for you if you ever want to talk," Mac said.

Boyce was poised to knock on Statham's door. He stared pointedly at Mac. Mac shrugged. "Okay, then," he said, giving up. "You know where to find me."

He started to turn away.

"Mac?"

He looked back at Boyce, eyebrows raised enquiringly.

Boyce hesitated. Then, "thanks."

Mac smiled. "Anytime," he assured him and wandered off to find Guy. He had a cricket game to completely destroy Guy at.

 

Boyce rapped on the door and walked in while Statham was still stuttering an invitation to enter.

"Reporting as ordered, _sir!_" he announced, drawing himself up straight and snapping off a salute.

"Ah. Er. What?"

"You ordered me to report to your office."

"I...er...did?"

"Yesterday? When I called you a tossbag but you'd gone and stopped being a Christian without telling me?"

"Oh yes. Well, never mind that now. You can go."

"No."

"No?"

"I was rude to you."

"Ah, yes, well, apologise, and we'll say no more about it."

"No, I insist on being punished."

Statham's eyes went satisfyingly wide. "...punished?" he squeaked, half rising from behind his desk and then sitting down again.

Boyce glanced at his watch. "Maybe we can finish this discussion later," he said regretfully. "It's time for your morning tutorial."

Statham looked at his own watch. "Oh, dear, oh dear, must hurry, wouldn't do to be late," he said, leaping up and hurrying around his desk. "Punctuality is an indicator of strong intellectual and moral character, whereas tardiness is to be abhorred as- as- as-"

"Bad?"

"Very bad, Mr Boyce. Get out of my way, please!" Statham said to his chest as Boyce blocked the doorway.

"Give us a kiss first."

"I hardly think-"

"I know."

Statham looked up at him then, glaring. "I hardly think, Mr Boyce," raising an admonishing finger as Boyce smirked and started to say something. Boyce closed his mouth and smiled at Statham affectionately. Statham looked disconcerted.

"The quicker you get it over with, the sooner we'll get to class," Boyce said, not without sympathy, as Statham's face contorted with indecision.

"Very well then," Statham said, in a martyred tone, and closed his eyes and pursed his mouth, waiting expectantly.

Boyce looked at him for a while, feeling that weird scrunchy feeling in his stomach, wondering what the hell it was about this frankly silly little man that drew him so strongly. He couldn't even tell himself it was just about the sex, really, or else why would he be pushing so hard now just for something from Statham to show that it was more. It was pretty pathetic really. Boyce sighed, and started to open the door.

Which is when Statham opened his eyes, looked from Boyce's face to his hand on the door handle, and lunged at him, banging into him so that the door slammed shut again. Statham mashed their mouths together, his hands clutching at Boyce's waist. Boyce's hands came up to cradle Statham's face of their own volition and he held Statham's head still as he licked at his mouth. After a very long moment Statham's jaw relaxed and his lips parted. Boyce deepened the kiss instantly and felt Statham's arms slide around his back and then Statham was clutching him almost too tightly. Boyce could feel Statham now, hard against him, matching him, and he forced himself to turn his head, break the kiss. Statham made a mewling sound and tried to catch his mouth again.

"What were you saying about punctuality?" Boyce gasped.

Statham released him as though he were on fire. "Quite right, Mr...er...Boyce," he stammered, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Thank you for the most timely reminder." He straightened his white coat and drew himself up importantly.

"Not at all," Boyce said, deciding not to mention Statham's kiss-swollen mouth and flushed cheeks. He opened the door, gesturing at Statham to precede him.

At the entrance to Consulting Room 2, Statham stopped abruptly. "You go in," he said, pushing Boyce towards the door. "I'll wait a minute."

"You don't want us to go in together?" Boyce asked incredulously. "What, you think that everybody will instantly assume that we're fucking each other because we happen to walk into a room together?"

"I think your waving my underpants about yesterday has probably given the game away, so to speak. Nevertheless, appearances must be maintained," Statham said, primly.

"I didn't notice a whole lot of appearance-maintaining going on with Joanna Clore," Boyce said pointedly. He wasn't being bitchy, he decided, he was just making a point.

"Wha..I don't..." Statham took his glasses off and fiddled with them. "I don't know what you are referring to," he snapped.

Boyce sighed. "Never mind," he said, backing into the consulting room, turning as the door swung shut behind him, and stopping short, his face flushing with embarrassment despite himself as the other students all turned to smile at him. Every single one of them was wearing a rainbow flag t-shirt under their white coats.

Boyce did the only thing he could do in the circumstances. He bowed and said, "thank you, thank you" at the smattering of applause.

Then Statham bustled in, officious as ever and launched immediately into his morning's lecture without so much as acknowledging Boyce's presence.

 

Boyce perched on the workbench and gnawed on a fingernail, watching Statham from underneath his eyelashes. He could feel, every now and then, people's eyes on him, or going from him to Statham as though expecting something dramatic to happen. To tell the truth, Boyce had been expecting something to happen too, for Statham to make a fool of himself over Boyce the way he did over that Clore bitch, to stutter and stammer and drop things, or to try to be subtle in that way he had where he might as well be wearing a sign. Boyce glared at Statham, who was indicating something on an x-ray with that stupid pointer of his, completely ignoring Boyce's existence. Statham thought he could ignore Boyce, did he? Boyce carefully did not think about what it said about him that he was so desperate for the man's attention.

"In some patients, rupture of the collateral ligaments by torsional valgus or varus stress-"

"Did you enjoy yourself the other night?" Boyce said loudly.

"-can result in avulsion fractures at the metacarpal head - I beg your pardon, Mr Boyce?" Statham peered at him over his glasses.

"I did."

"You did, what?"

"Enjoy myself." Boyce smirked at him, and deliberately licked his lips.

Statham's eyes widened. "Ooh, er, oh, I don't. I don't know what you're. Talking about, that is!"

"Our date," Boyce said, enjoying the way Statham's hands fluttered on his pointer, closing it and snapping it open again, seemingly without noticing.

"Noth-nothing happened!" Statham squawked. "It wasn't a date!"

"Oh yes it was," Boyce smiled. "You can't pretend it didn't happen."

"Oh yes I can! If there was a date. In fact, there was no date."

Boyce made a patently false regretful face. "I'm afraid everyone in the hospital knows now."

"Everyone?" Statham whimpered.

Boyce gestured at the other students, all watching the show with interest. "Why do you think everyone's wearing those shirts? Did you think it was Gay Pride day?"

Statham peered around the room with wide, alarmed eyes. A few people shuffled under his look, closing their lab coats, but most just smirked at him. His face contorted. "Out!" he shrieked. "Everybody out at once! _At once!_"

Reluctantly, the others shuffled out. Boyce didn't move. He crossed his arms and stared challengingly at Statham.

"Go to my office, Mr Boyce." Statham pointed at the door imperiously, the pointer shaking slightly. Boyce got to his feet and ambled towards him. Statham fidgeted anxiously, but held his ground. Boyce moved close enough for their bodies to touch. Statham looked up at him with wide eyes, seemingly frozen in place. Boyce raised an arm and Statham flinched. Boyce frowned slightly at the flinch - what the hell did he think Boyce was going to do? Slowly he reached between them and took the pointer from Statham's grasp and threw it on to the nearest bench.

Statham's eyes followed the movement, then came back to stare unblinkingly at Boyce. His lips parted and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Boyce leaned down, watching Statham's eyes drift closed. Then he straightened and brushed past him, and sauntered off to Statham's office.

He heard Statham bustle in behind him and the sound of the door closing in what was not quite a slam.

"Right then, Mr Boyce," Statham said in his authoritative voice, as though the last few moments hadn't occurred. "I've had about enough of your insub-insub-insubordination, thank you. I'll thank you to not mention what happened – nothing happened! - what happened the other night, ever again. It's best if we just put it out of our minds . Agreed?

Oh, now Statham wanted to pretend it had never happened, did he? Boyce was surprised at how angry that made him. He pushed his suddenly shaking hands into his pockets and leaned against the desk.

"On your knees," he said flatly, thankful that he at least sounded cool and unconcerned.

Statham gaped at him gratifyingly. "wha, wha," he stuttered.

Boyce stared him down. 'Get on your knees and suck my cock."

Statham's mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

"Now." For a moment Boyce thought Statham would refuse. Then Statham slid to his knees in front of him. Boyce looked down at him, careful not to let his triumph show. Statham reached hesitantly towards his fly.

"Use your mouth," Boyce said, in a hard voice.

Statham's eyes dropped and he leaned forward and mouthed at Boyce's cock through his trousers. His mouth was wet and saliva dampened the material quickly. He tried to undo the button with his tongue, whining in his throat when he couldn't do it. Boyce looked down at him, at his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, at his downcast eyes and his desperate mouth. God, it felt good seeing him reduced to this state, knowing that _he'd _ done it to him.

It was taking too long, though. Boyce sighed loudly in disappointment. "God, you're useless," he said impatiently. "Just use your hands, then."

Statham flicked a glance at him up through his lashes. "Joanna said that," he said, looking stupidly vulnerable. Boyce had to resist an urge to apologise. "Get on with it," he snapped.

Statham had his fly open very quickly after that, and proceeded to use his mouth so enthusiastically that Boyce had to grip the edge of the desk he was leaning against for support until he spurted helplessly into Statham's mouth, his brain going foggy at how good it was, his legs weak and shaky when he went to stand up afterwards.

Boyce vaguely considered staggering over to the corner and having a kip for a while, after all, he hadn't go much sleep the night before. That's probably why he was so off -balance. And that's probably why he didn't resist when Statham grabbed him and spun him around and pushed him down on the desk. He felt his trousers being yanked down and hands pulling at his ankles til he obediently allowed his feet to be spread as far as the material allowed. When he felt slick fingers push into his arse though – god, the man kept lube in his office, at least, he hoped it was lube - it occurred to him to wonder what the hell he was doing. He was just bringing his hands up to push himself up and off the desk when the fingers twisted hard and _oh fuck _there was his prostate. Boyce's cock jerked and his senses swam and he couldn't do anything except let Statham have his wicked way with him. Statham muttered into his neck about how Boyce wanted to be punished, did he, well, how did he like that, hmm, how did that feel, and Boyce rested his suddenly hot face against the cool wood, his body yielding completely as Statham slammed into him over and over again.

 

God, she was horny. Lustful. Arrouused. Li-bi-tin-ous, even. She'd masturbated twice since she'd got to work and it had barely taken the edge off. Luckily, she knew what to do. Joanna rifled around in the box of crap at the bottom of the cupboard. It was in there somewhere. Alan's newfound religion was no match for -aha! She held up the ridiculous French maid's outfit Alan had bought for her for Christmas. He'd begged and begged for her to put it on but she'd refused. She'd figured it'd come in handy one day when she wanted something special from him. Well, desperate times called for desperate measures. Hastily she half closed the blinds and changed into it, jiggling her breasts for a while before tucking them into the corset and plumping them up. Then she wrapped her coat around her and swept out of the office, making sure not catch any of her staff's eyes in case they asked her something to do with work. Not that they normally did, much, too busy buffing each other's hair and filing their nails into points or something.

Alan's office door was closed. Good, that almost certainly meant he was hiding in there so he wouldn't have to do any work. She threw open the door, grabbing the sides of her coat, about to fling it open, and stopped short at the horrible, perverted, sexy, disgusting goings on in front of her. "OH MY FUCKING GOD," she howled, and sagged against the door as her legs trembled at the wave of desire, that is, disgust! Alan was smirking – smirking! - at her and the young, blond, _young_ student he was fucking looked around, looking red and sweaty and thoroughly fucked and why wasn't it her, it wasn't fair, and Alan said her name and he was _gloating_, the bastard, and, and, well, she'd show him!

Joanna staggered back to her office, stumbling into the walls once or twice. She paused only to jam the hat down as far over his face as she could of someone who had stupidly approached her thinking she needed help. She spied Kim, who was sitting smirking at her computer screen. No doubt she was up to something, the little whore, she always was.

She leant casually over Kim's desk, meanly amused at the way the girl's eyes widened warily as she looked up. "Oh, Kim, dear, aren't you going out with that vacant looking blond boy who works under – for! - Dr Statham?"

Kim smiled up at her, "Yes, I am," she said happily, the smug little cow. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," she said airily, making a sweeping dismissive gesture with her arms. Kim ducked. She'd developed pretty good reflexes, Joanna noticed. She'd have to start aiming better. She looked around and grabbed the nearest thing that looked vaguely work related. "Could you please take this to Dr Statham's office immediately - he's not in, just go in and put it on his desk. All right?"

Kim nodded at her computer screen. "I'll just finish this-"

"No, NOW, if you please," Joanna said firmly, not raising her voice very much at all. "Chop, chop," she said, clapping her hands.

Kim got to her feet, having the nerve to look disgruntled. As though she had anything better to do than what Joanna wanted her to do.

Just for the hell of it, she smacked Kim's annoyingly pert little bum as the girl swished past, pleased when she jumped and gave a little yelp, smiling innocently when Kim threw her a poisonous glance over her shoulder as she hurried out.

 

"OH, MY FUCKING GOD," someone shouted, and Boyce tensed, lifting his head, craning around to see Statham's ex - _Kim's boss _ \- collapsed against the side of the doorway, a look of horrified disgust all over her face.

"Joanna," he heard Statham say, sounding triumphant. Boyce tried to push up but a firm hand on his neck held him in place and god, how was that even a turn on. Statham's thrusts didn't falter. Boyce groaned; it was too hard to think; god, how had he not _ known_ how good this would be. He put his head back on the desk. He vaguely heard the door close before thought deserted him. Boyce could barely recognise the keening noise as belonging to him but it had to be because he could hear over the roaring in his ears Statham's voice telling him over and over what a good boy he was, how Daddy was pleased with him, Daddy was going to take care of him and would Daddy's good boy like to come now? Boyce said; Boyce gasped; _ please,_ and Statham said _please what_, and Boyce said,_ please Daddy,_ and he felt Statham's hand take hold of his cock and jerk it in time with his thrusts. Boyce gasped with relief and came in his hand, shuddering with the pleasure of it. Statham's voice, sounding pleased, was saying what a good boy he was, and Boyce felt a rush of pleasure at pleasing Daddy- Statham - mingled with vague disgust, but he was still tingling and fuzzy with afterglow so he decided he wasn't going to think too deeply about it. His arse was still getting pounded and he knew he was going to be fucking sore after this. Boyce couldn't bring himself to care. Finally Statham's thrusts went quick and jerky and he groaned loudly and collapsed on Boyce's back.

After a couple of minutes of mutual panting and unpleasant sweatiness, Boyce squirmed. "Get off me!"

"Oh right, sorry," Statham said, sounding like himself again, fussy and apologetic. He staggered backward, incidentally pulling out of Boyce's arse too quickly. "Fuck," Boyce said, and forced himself to stand up and pull up his trousers.

Just in time too. The door opened again and Kim walked in with a file in her hand, stopping short as she saw them. "Oh, sorry, I thought you were out," she said, looking curiously at Statham, who had convulsed into a bird-like crouched over position. "Joanna asked me to drop this off." Boyce jerked his jacket closed to cover up his open trousers. Kim's eyes darted between them. Luckily Statham was half concealed by the desk.

"That's fine, just put it on the desk," Statham shrieked, flapping his arms about, and turning half away to smooth a hand across his hair, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Kim just nodded and smirked at Boyce as she slid the file on the table – this probably didn't even make a blip on the Dr Statham-weird-o-metre. Statham's eccentricity was the butt of everyone's jokes, not just his. He felt badly about that for about five seconds. Then Kim winked and smiled at him conspiratorially. Statham's eyes went all squinty, and then Statham was flapping his hands in Kim's personal space, forcing her to give ground or get battered. She retreated.

"I'll see you later," Boyce called, as the door was shut on her bemused face.

"What do you mean by that, if I may ask?" Statham said officiously, fussing with his glasses.

"I mean, I'll see her later."

"I see. You and that...that..._floozy_ engage in coitus, do you?"

"Kim's my girlfriend, yeah."

"I see." Statham took off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief he produced from his breast pocket. "And. And, what about this?" He gestured between them. "This," he repeated impatiently when Boyce just stared, gesturing more violently. "This!"

"This is...what it is," Boyce said. Why did they have to talk about it anyway? "Don't make a big deal out of it, for God's sake," he said, not looking at Statham as he did up his zipper.

Statham's shoulders hunched. "No, no, of course not," he huffed, obviously trying hard for casual.

Boyce was going to just leave, but when he glanced at Statham he noticed a red flush across his cheekbones. It was kind of cute, actually. Boyce grinned, and aimed a quick peck at Statham's cheek for the hell of it. Statham jerked away violently. "Leave now!" he squeaked, fumbling his glasses back on.

Boyce tried to catch his eye, but Statham was looking anywhere but at Boyce. "We good?" Boyce asked, maybe, possibly, a little concerned.

"Certainly, we are good. Or at least, I am good. You however, Mr Boyce, are, generally speaking, disobedient, disrespectful, disruptive -"

"Distinctive?"

"Dispensible!"

"Distinguished?"

"Disgraceful!"

"Disturbing?"

"Dislikeable!"

"Really?" Boyce murmured, moving confidently forward and staring soulfully into Statham's deer-in-headlights-widened eyes. "You don't find me distracting, discomforting, disquieting-"

Statham lunged forward and kissed him, clutching his arms, and Boyce smiled against his mouth. "You realise you have to marry me now," he mumbled.

Statham let go as though electro-shocked. "Wha-wha-wha-"

Boyce looked at him soulfully. You've _dishonoured_ me."

"I -er-no-um-that is to say- I mean – what?"

"Just kidding."

Statham sagged with relief. "Oh, _you,_" he said, batting playfully at Boyce's shoulder. "Such a kidder!"

Boyce felt a moment's – was that _hurt_? no, _annoyance_, that was it - at Statham's reaction but shook it off. He wasn't a girl. What was important was, things were back to normal between them. He'd been afraid for a sec that Statham was going to go and get clingy on him.

"Off you go," Statham said, making shooing motions at him.

Boyce let himself be shooed. He was hanging out for a fag anyway.

And his arse hurt, he realized as he walked towards the nearest exit. He bloody wasn't going to be doing _that_ again anytime soon.

Well, not for a few days at least. Maybe he'd just check the rosters, see when they both had a bit of time off, stop by, pick up some Indian food on the way. No need to make a big deal about it. After all, they were just having a bit of fun. Right?

Maybe he'd take some massage oil too. Boyce liked to make his partners feel good, and he was good at it. They always came back for more. Statham would be no different.

Boyce was counting on it.


End file.
